Was he joking? No, he wasn’t, Annalisa realised when she walked across and examined the length of thick plaited cord hanging in a corner. It disappeared through an opening in the ceiling and obviously rang through to some other part of the house.
She gazed around… Where to start? It was a great opportunity—temptation with a license, a chance to discover what Ramon’s home revealed about him.
Quality, comfort, but no clutter, she thought as she prowled about. Marble floors covered with priceless Aubusson rugs in shades of rose, peach and ochre. She skirted those and continued with her appraisal in another area.
Vast picture windows dressed with nothing more than pale wood shutters, folded back at present. Two blue and white man-height Chinese vases either side of a baronial-size stone fireplace… A profusion of fresh flowers cascading out of one mammoth vase on top of a stone plinth… Ivory-coloured sofas punctuated with jewel-coloured silk cushions—a suggestion of exotic allure amidst all the restraint… Very Ramon, she decided, smiling faintly. Then, just when she had begun to think that all the room lacked was a personal touch, she spied a clutch of silver-framed photographs arranged on top of a rosewood desk.
There were several striking shots of Ramon and another man she took to be his brother. Standing easily together, their arms draped loosely across each other’s shoulders, they stood on the deck of a boat…a racing yacht, she corrected herself after studying the picture more closely. Almost as handsome as Ramon, Luis appeared to be a few years younger. And where Ramon’s hair was pitch-black, Luis’s was a warm, sun-streaked tawny brown. A consequence of his addiction to sailing, she decided, taking another look. His eyes were penetrating too, but a fierce green rather than smouldering amber-brown. No wonder Margarita was in love with him. He was stunning. And they looked so happy together in their wedding photograph…
There were studio portraits of Margarita and Aurelia, along with several family groups just as she might have expected. And behind this most recent group of photographs stood an older collection of prints. Some were black and white, some sepia. Annalisa presumed they showed distant ancestors of the Crianza Perez family. Her glance was just sweeping over them when Ramon strode into the room.
‘What are you doing in here?’
In the space of a heartbeat he was standing next to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Annalisa began, but he waved his hand impatiently and steered her away from the desk.
‘The calls took longer than I anticipated,’ he explained.
‘That’s all right. I’ve been looking at your photographs.’
‘The photographs?’
‘You. Your brother…Margarita, Aurelia… They’re all so good.’
‘Why didn’t you go into the library as I suggested?’
‘Rodriguez said the air-conditioning wasn’t working in there,’ Annalisa explained, wondering about his short incomprehensible outburst in Spanish. She could understand how crucial the air-conditioning system would be as the weather grew hotter. Even a house as large as his would be stifling without it.
‘There’s something you need to know,’ Ramon said.
His expression frightened her. ‘Now?’
He answered by propelling her towards some double doors that led onto a veranda overlooking the sea.
‘This is so beautiful,’ Annalisa murmured distractedly, moving away from him. Resting her hands lightly on the cool stone rail, she felt as if she could happily gaze out at the timeless beauty for ever…prolonging the moment of blissful ignorance indefinitely! She felt intuitively that whatever Ramon had to say wasn’t good.
‘The photographs,’ he began, coming to stand beside her. ‘I should have been with you—’ He broke off with an exclamation of impatience and swiped a hand across his forehead.
Angry with her, or for her? She couldn’t tell. ‘Is it so important?’ she said, pulling back from the balustrade. ‘They’re only photographs.’
‘It is important…very important.’
‘Why?’ Annalisa demanded softly, not sure whether she was ready to hear his answer.
‘Understand first,’ he began, ‘that I use this house as a convenience. This is not a home. There are few personal touches here…apart from those photographs.’
‘I had noticed—’
He put his hand on her arm, urging her to hear him out. ‘This is serious, Annalisa. I want you to believe me when I tell you that I have had no reason to look at any of those photographs or even think about them for years…until I met you.’
‘And now?’ she said apprehensively.